


Explorations of Attachment Through Four Sexual Acts

by BirdWhistle



Series: What We Screw In The Shadows [2]
Category: What We Do in the Shadows (2014)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, M/M, Pegging, Period Sex, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27051178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdWhistle/pseuds/BirdWhistle
Summary: There's more to a relationship than sex, apparently. A certain dandy vampire might know things about that.
Relationships: Viago (What We Do in the Shadows)/Reader
Series: What We Screw In The Shadows [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974307
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	1. Period Sex

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to What We Screw In The Shadows, but it also works as a stand-alone fic.

  


For someone as neat and fastidious as Viago, he takes great pleasure in the mess that a nice, thorough fuck makes. He’s very fond of kissing his own cum out of your mouth and out of your cunt. He’s very fond of kissing your cunt, full stop. It’s never foreplay —such a bullshit, heteronormative term— and it’s never a chore: he genuinely loves eating pussy.

“It’s not easy to put into words” he said when you asked him, out of curiosity, why he found it so enjoyable. “I think there are many things at play. For starters, it has such a distinct taste, there’s nothing like it.”

He said it with a knowing smile, as if had tasted all there is to be tasted on this Earth. But you figured that a man whose diet consists of nothing but blood may indeed have a keener sense of taste.

“It also makes you come differently. Or maybe not differently; I don’t know, exactly. Forgive me.”

You chuckled. “This isn’t a lecture.”

He smiled. “I love bringing you to such a state with only my mouth.” He laid a soft kiss on your shoulder. “The way you say my name… sometimes I feel it might actually kick-start my heart again.”

There is, however, a hindrance. Well, not exactly a hindrance. More of a qualm. Viago had asked you if he could go down on you while you’re on your period. It wasn’t an unexpected request; it was, actually, quite reasonable: he drinks blood to survive (can it be called surviving if he’s not really alive?) and he loves eating you out.

He suspected you had reservations about it, since you’re somewhat squeamish, even with your own blood. But you did give it some thought. You had more to gain than to lose; a good orgasm is a great way to soothe cramps and other period-related discomforts. And Viago’s handsome mug covered in blood was an almost alluring picture.

“Are you comfortable?” He has, of course, laid down a couple of towels.

“Yes, sir.”

He laughs. You’re in your underwear, a pair of black boy shorts that are your go-to during your period. He lies down next to you and kisses you. The kiss is slow, exploratory; his mouth is always warm, which you find very unusual. His hand roams your body: it traces the curve of your waist, the lines of your clavicle; it cups one breast, then the other, thumb grazing your nipples.

“You’re so soft”, he murmurs. “So, so warm.”

His fingers play with the waistband of your underwear. “May I?”

They’re already wet with blood. You try to focus on him, on the dark of his hair, on the shimmer of his eyes. “Yeah.”

A lone finger finds its way into your panties, brushing against the hood of your clit. He moves it in gentle circles, just how you like it. A laugh escapes you.

“What?”

“It’s just funny. I feel like we’re going to fuck for the very first time or something.”

“It often feels like that, actually.”

“Really?”

When Viago smiles at you, warmth blossoms and ripples across your chest. You would stockpile it if you could, hoard it deep within your ribcage so you don’t feel cold ever again.

“Yeah. It’s always so… mesmerizing.” He presses his mouth to your breast. “You’re always so mesmerizing.”

Your fingers pull on his hair as your legs curl themselves around his body. He kisses you over the fabric of your underwear—

“Don’t—“

and rips it in half.

“I’ll get you new ones” and his voice has taken that wicked timbre that gives away a deep hunger. He licks the fabric, and you want to gasp and giggle and moan, but you do none of those, you just stare, unmoving, holding your breath.

He rubs his nose on the hood of your clit then licks a line down your slit. Before you can even inhale enough air to actually moan, he dips his tongue deep in your cunt. He laps at it, keen, _voracious_. More wolf-like than vampire-like, you’d say if you could speak. But you can’t. You can only watch, you can only feel him _eat_ you, consume you, and for a reason you can’t identify —you’re in no position to do any sort of reasoning— it feels almost sacrilegious.

His blood-soaked tongue seeks your clit and licks it, and then he closes his mouth around it and groans as he sucks on it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you repeat until the tension reverberates in every muscle and bone. He lowers his tongue again, bright-red blood smeared across his cheeks and chin, coating his tongue before he gulps it down and curls it inside your cunt yet again.

The effort to remain on your elbows is rewarded by the sight before you. Your thighs are splashed with red, too, as is his nose. There’s even a smudge on his forehead. His tongue is back on your clit, flat against it, then swirling around it, and one hand is kneading your breast while the other teases you with one finger, then two, and you fall back and lift your hips off the bed as you come hard against his mouth, pleasure hot and hard and unwavering.

Your ragged breathing echoes across your bedroom, and your mind slowly readjusts to the perceivable reality around you. The shadows that dance in the corners. The texture of the towels under your bum. The feel of Viago’s tongue in and out of your pussy. He’s careful not to touch your clit; he also uses his fingers, as if he were scooping peanut butter out of a jar. You giggle.

“Feeling good?”

“Oh yeah.”

There’s a question you want answered. “Does it taste different from… like, blood from someone’s veins?”

He hums against your cunt. “Yes. The metal taste is still present, but it also tastes like you.”

He stays between your legs a while longer. You even doze off once or twice. When he raises himself, you notice he’s hard.

“Let’s take a shower” you say as you rid him of his underwear. That monument to entropy that’s his flat doesn’t have hot water, a pleasure he has become very accustomed to.

He gets under the shower spray, head first. Even as you watch your blood being rinsed off his face, you can’t help but feel as if you have branded him. He gives you a mischievous smile. Did you say that aloud? The heat is making you a little lightheaded.

You press your chest and your forehead to the tiles, away from the shower head. Viago kisses your neck softly before he slides inside you.

“You’re always so wet for me, but this is so fucking good.”

You nod, spreading your legs wider, wishing for something to hold onto other than the slippery flatness of the tiles. His hand sneaks between your thighs, rubbing your clit ever so gently as he thrusts into you in a steady rhythm.

Viago is an extremely fast learner, and a very thorough lover. He has identified the pressure and the speed he needs to exert when he touches you according to the position you’re in.

“Oh, just— keep doing that, please.” You can taste the honeyed tang of another orgasm. He’s right; the blood makes it gooier, and you take his other hand and press it to your chest, to your beating heart.

His voice is a raspy moan behind your ear. “Close? I’m so close, love, so fucking close.”

His thrusts are quicker, more shallow. You zero in on the friction of your clit between his fingers, on the glide of his cock in and out of your cunt. You grunt, or whimper, or both. Your abdomen tightens and your hands close into fists and you shatter, mind collapsing under the weight of a bright climax. The steam lulls you into a haze that only fades when Viago opens the door and wraps a towel around you.

“Did you come?”

He chuckles. “Like two seconds after you did, but you were somewhere else entirely.”

You grin. “Gimme a sec.”

He nods and exists the bathroom. You see a beaming face when you look in the mirror. A beaming face with a messy, half-wet bun.

When you join Viago in bed, he’s got your laptop on his stomach. He’s gotten better with technology, thanks to you and Stu. He even got an _ok boomer_ joke you threw his way one night.

“I don’t think generations had names back then."

”No shit.”

You snuggle next to him, knowing you’re going to fall asleep less than twenty minutes into whatever movie he’s chosen. You don’t even register his lack of body temperature anymore. You wrap yourself around him, like a needy octopus, a sigh of contentment leaving you.


	2. Threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three's a party.

  


Viago had often regarded his attraction to men as incidental.

His indulgence in such affairs had been scarce; his timid nature, coupled with his tendency to favor romantic connection over simply carnal interactions —Katherine being the best example of both— had left little room for explorations of this particular proclivity. So, when he suggested a threesome with another man, you were shocked.

“I didn’t know you like men.”

“You never asked.” The softness of his voice, regardless of the topic, is one of the many things you love about him.

“Have you fucked one before?”

“Define fuck.”

You laugh. “Anything sexual.”

He looks away for a second. Then his eyes return to you, and he smirks. Viago, smirking. Huh. The night is full of surprises.

“A rendezvous with an acquaintance when I was alive. A blowjob or two in a nightclub some decades ago.”

“Did you come in his mouth?”

The thought of Viago’s delicate hands tangled in a mysterious man’s hair as he pushed his cock into his mouth was very, _very_ interesting. And he picks up on your interest immediately. You go from sitting next to him to being pinned under him in less than a second. It never fails to make your head swim, but you love it nonetheless.

“Would you like to see that? I imagine it’s better than just picturing it.”

The tinge of mischief is, quite frankly, surprising. Is he bored with you?

“Are you bored with me?”

He stops nibbling on the tender flesh of your throat. “What?”

“If you feel this… relationship has run its course, just say so.” You didn’t mean to be so curt, but his suggestion had come out of left field, and he seems so invested in carrying it through that you wonder if he’s just too polite to break up with you in a more direct fashion.

He sits up on his heels. “No. No, that’s not what this is about. I…” His lower lip quivers slightly. You want to brush your thumb over it to make it stop. Viago is not a good liar. He’s too transparent.

You sit up as well. “You don’t want to break up?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t. You know how I feel about you.”

You do know. “What’s this about, then?”

“Remember when you let me use your phone to watch those cute puppy videos?”

Fuck, you know where this is going.

“Well, I wanted to google one of the breeds, so I opened the browser, and it was on private browsing, and there was this video…”

“Yes.” Your interruption obeys the impulse to preserve some of your dignity. You know which video Viago is referring to. “You really need to get your own smartphone.”

He nods. “Do you masturbate to these videos?”

“Of course. Why else would I watch them?”

“So it’s a turn-on. Two men, I mean.”

You and Viago have discussed —one might even say extensively— your likes and dislikes when it comes to sex. Viago was more of a blank slate; his experience was limited, and he’s never shown a particular interest in visual stimulation such as porn. It’s being watched what turns him on, he’d confessed, and that’s a piece of information you tucked away for future reference.

When you started fucking, he had told you, it gave him an almost perverse pleasure to know that his flatmates could hear your little exploits.

“Why?” You had asked. To know Viago through the ever-revealing lens of sexual inclinations was a fascinating business.

“Ego, I suppose. I like the idea of them bearing witness to how much you enjoy getting fucked by me.”

You were extra loud the night of that confession. Vladislav wiggled his eyebrows at you the next night as acknowledgement.

It never occurred to you to mention a fantasy you’ve had for quite a long time. Viago is not prudish by any stretch of the imagination; his newly minted sexual expertise is a direct result of both a lack of inhibition on your part and a refreshing willingness to try things on his. He’s never shown reluctance to adopt a pupil role; he enjoys sex and he appreciates your disposition to “teach” him.

You haven’t done much teaching, really. Viago’s sensitive nature translates to a very sharp intuition, both in and outside the bedroom. He’s not a mind reader, but it surprised you how attuned he became to your desires and feelings. His supernatural skills certainly help: being able to hear, to feel your heartbeat is a hell of an advantage in the sack. But it’s more than that.

You have never shied away from openly stating if something bothers you. There are times, however, when you don’t need to. He knows it. He _senses_ it. It’s kind of spooky, but also helpful, since you’re not always the best at articulating complex emotions.

Like now. You want him to know that, yes, a threesome with another man has always been a huge turn-on for you. But you also want him to know that you love fucking him and him alone, that the point of a fantasy is that it can easily remain within the realm of possibility forever, it doesn’t need to be materialized. You lie down, hoping he’ll settle next to you. He does.

“Yes. The idea of fucking— of getting fucked by two men is very arousing. I’ve never done it; men love threesomes, but only when it’s convenient for them.” You stop to organize your thoughts. “It’s a fantasy. Nothing more.” You turn to him. “I love sex with you. You’re more than enough. You’re all I want.”

He kisses you. It starts slow and sweet, but it shifts to something more primal, more needy. When you reach for his belt, he stops you and unbuckles it himself.

“I liked it. The video. I could see you on your knees, mouth full of cock while I fuck you raw from behind.”

You have very few certainties in this world. One of them is that you’ll never, ever get tired of Viago talking dirty. He takes your hand and shoves it down his pants. He’s so fucking hard already. His own hand is between your legs, fingers drawing lazy circles around your clit. You get on top of him, not even bothering to undress him or yourself.

“I’d like to watch him suck this perfect cock of yours” you murmur as you take it in hand and rub it against your cunt.

“Then I’ll get him on his knees. Just for your viewing pleasure.”

A sultry moan leaves you as you sink down on his cock _and_ picture a man kneeling in front of a naked Viago. It’s so easy. So effortless. You ride him fast and hard, letting his moans and grunts —and your own— submerge you in a pool of pleasure. Flashes of a theoretical encounter overwhelm you, and you stumble and fall into a dark pit as you come. Viago digs his fingers into your thighs and thrusts up and into you and then he groans as his own climax hits him. You collapse on the bed.

“Are you sure?” You mutter into the pillow. He twists a lock of your hair around his index.

“We can establish some ground rules, yeah?”

  


“I take it you like biting.”

“I do, yes, but just a little.”

“I can’t draw blood, can I?”

“I don’t bleed.”

“A little less talking, a little more kissing, please.” They’re quite different: they are both tall, but Alex has a long, athletic body and fair, freckled skin. Viago is more sturdily built, not as lanky, but still slender.

You like the contrast: Viago’s brown skin often betrays his undead status. And, in this moment, you’d bet he’s quite grateful for his lack of circulation, otherwise he would be all flush.

They resume their kissing, still slightly tentative. You watch them from the bed, wearing a loose dress with no underwear. Is it too soon to start touching yourself? Alex has taken Viago’s lower lip between his teeth, making him let out a small moan.

“Touch him” you command, but you’re not sure to whom. Alex dips his hand and runs his thumb over the waistband of Viago’s underwear. Viago reacts by sinking his hands in his curls.

The kiss has gotten… feisty. There are times when Viago very much enjoys vying for control; this is one of those times. He breaks the kiss and turns to you, looking for approval. All you can do is nod. He looks so good with his mouth all wet, panting slightly. Alex winks at you, and you smile.

“He likes it sloppy.”

Viago gives you one of his trademark gestures: he bites his lower lip, mouth twisting slightly upward. He does this whenever he’s feeling nervous, self-conscious, insecure, or seeking validation. Right now, he’s most likely all four.

Alex drops to his knees, taking Viago’s underwear with him.

“Turn a little, so I can watch you.”

What a view it is. You’re too paranoid to film yourself fucking someone, but you’re tempted to do so after this evening. Viago has always struck you as a very beautiful man; he can be clumsy and awkward at times, but he’s always lithe and graceful in bed.

His eyes had closed the second Alex took the head of his cock into his mouth, but now they’re open and on you. Your hand is under your dress, and you touch yourself with unhurried little movements.

“Oh, fuck.” Alex has taken him all the way in, his long, pale fingers cupping Viago’s balls. You can almost feel the head of that wonderful cock against the back of your own throat.

Alex withdraws, letting lines of spit keep him connected to Viago’s cock. He licks the head and down the shaft, then slips one ball into his mouth. Viago curses in German and turns to you yet again.

You’re already incredibly wet; you dip two fingers inside then lick them clean, keeping your eyes on him. Viago’s obsessed with your taste, and you relish the hearty groan he lets out as he watches you.

His eyes drift back to Alex, and you can feel his struggle to decide who to focus on. Alex wins when he presses a fingertip right behind his sack.

“Fuck”, you hear him whisper as he thrusts into the other man’s mouth. You’re so close to orgasm, fingers swift and desperate on your clit. He knows what you want; he knows how to make you unravel.

He gives himself fully to the hot pleasure of the other man's mouth and the tease of his fingers, and he grabs him by the hair as he comes in his mouth with a strangled moan. He steps slightly backward, cock in hand, hot spurts of cum landing on Alex’s face.

You fall back on the bed, thighs shaking, throat vibrating with shameless moans as you come. When you come to your senses again, you’re lying on your side and Viago is pushing your hair out of your face.

“Babe.”

 _Babe_. You remember the first time he called you that. You echoed it back at him, surprised at how… intimate it felt. You prefer it when he calls you by your name —it’s always a sweet pulsation of his vocal cords, filled with tenderness— but _babe_ , in the right context, makes you equally warm inside.

“Hmmm.”

He smiles and kisses your cheek. Alex is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s in the bathroom, cleaning up.”

“You did make quite a mess.”

“You like it when I make a mess.”

“I love it.”

“What do you want to do next?”

“I’m more of a show rather than tell kind of girl.”

“You are, indeed.”

Alex comes out of the bathroom, and you sit up again, this time near the edge of the bed.

“One of us hasn’t come yet” you announce.

“Very unfair, if you ask me” he smiles.

He leans forward and kisses you. You can taste Viago on his tongue.

"May I?" he asks as he plays with the hem of your dress. You nod and he swiftly removes it, his fingers caressing all the skin he can reach.

You take his underwear and slip it down his legs. You bite his groin softly, taking his cock in your hand and giving it a few slow strokes.

“Stand next to him” you instruct to Viago. He does as he’s told, cock hard again. You smirk.

You’ve never been one for flashy preamble: you guide Alex into your mouth, trying not to smile as he hisses above you. You look up and their heavy gazes make you squirm a little.

Viago is languidly touching himself, and you’re tempted to do the same, but not yet. You pull Alex’s cock out of your mouth long enough to speak.

“Kiss him.”

Alex grins at you. You hooked up ages ago, and somehow managed to stay friends afterward. You had been pretty close to asking him for this back then, but never found the courage. You’re glad you didn’t; it’s hard to envision this experience with someone other than Viago.

Alex plants a soft kiss on Viago’s shoulder, then licks his lower lip. Viago opens his mouth and soon they’re caught in a sultry kiss that makes you moan.

You swirl your tongue around the head and suck on the flushed tip. Viago lets out a breathy _fuck_ when he feels your mouth on _his_ cock. Your hand moves slowly up and down Alex’s cock as you suck Viago off. When you chance a look up, both men are staring at you, chests heaving.

You switch again, both hands busy now, your right grabbing Alex’s cock by the root, and your left jerking Viago off. It’s deliciously wicked; their tastes mingle in your mouth when you switch between them, and you take the threads of spit and tangle them in their cocks before positively _choking_ on one at a time.

You almost want to find out if you can come like this: head bobbing up and down, drifting from left to right, thighs rubbing together. But you want more. You lift your gaze to Viago, and understanding dawns on him. He gives Alex one last kiss before kneeling behind you on the bed.

You know he can feel your heart beating wildly in your chest. He presses a soft kiss to your lower back, then grabs your hips and enters you in one smooth thrust.

 _Oh God_. _Oh fuck_. Your mind is rapidly succumbing to the pleasure of being so _full_. Alex locks his fingers in your hair, pushing his hips into you ever so gently.

Your fingernails scratch the hard plane of his stomach and run down his thighs, and you grab his left hip for support. Viago is pounding into you now, driving Alex’s cock further into your mouth, and you half-hear whispers of encouragement from both men.

 _What a good girl_ ; _so good at sucking cock_ ; _you’re taking my cock so well_ ; _gag on it_ ; _that’s it_.

 _Fuck, your cunt is mine, babe, all mine, only mine_.

Holy fuck, you might pass out when you come; the pleasure makes your muscles strain and your ears ring and your cunt tighten more and more around Viago’s cock.

“Shit, I’m gonna—“ Alex warns before he grunts above you and his cum coats your tongue. You swallow as his body stiffens then slackens.

You slump down on the bed, angling your hips better so Viago can hit that spot inside you that completely obliterates you.

All of your energy rests on a pinpoint of light that grows and shifts and becomes all-consuming.

“Babe” he murmurs, and you feel yourself break like a fucking wave, dissolving into a blue-black chasm that makes your body collapse onto itself and then just crumple on the bed, boneless.

It’s hard to say if you blacked out or just drifted off briefly. When you open your eyes again, Alex is gone. Viago settles next to you.

“You already kicked him out?”

“He left on his own accord.”

Ha! Poor chum was probably hypnotized into getting the fuck out.

“Thank you.”

You really are thankful. And just like before, you can’t help but feel this is an experience you were meant to have with him. It’s silly; you don’t believe in fate or any of that nonsense. You’re just grateful you found this wonderful man.

“That was… you are breathtaking.”

“You don’t breathe.”

He giggles. “Lovely. Amazing. Delightful. Magnificent.”

“Ooh, magnificent. I like that one.”

“You’re welcome. I’m really glad we did this. But I’m afraid I want you all to myself from now on.”

You smile. “I can’t say I have a problem with that.”

You scoot closer and kiss him softly. There’s so much you want to do with him. Fortunately, none of it involves a third party.

Well, not directly.


	3. Exhibitionism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are friends for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: "Exhibitionism is a sexual kink in which the person feels sexual arousal at the idea or reality of being seen naked or engaged in sexual activities by others”. Consent is key here. Not everyone is up for seeing random people naked and/or getting it on.

Learning about Katherine from Stu rather than Viago would forever remain a funny anecdote.

Viago had mention a woman he’d been in love with that first night, but since the first three or four months of your relationship consisted of ninety percent fucking and ten percent denial —on your part—, you didn’t give it a second thought.

After things became less casual, you considered inquiring, but were not yet ready for the expected reciprocity of the matter, so you shrugged it off. Once you opened up about past relationships and entanglements, romantic or otherwise, you cowardly evaded Viago’s attempts to show you his skeletons. Or skeleton, singular.

You had assumed the woman was dead; “a long time ago” could mean centuries for a vampire. A dead significant other is no light affair; they are trapped in amber: ageless, faultless, perfect. You had no intention of trying to live up to that immaculate memory, so the less you knew, the better. And the scope of your knowledge was narrow: only her name.

“Oh shit.”

“What is it?”

“Katherine has died.”

Stu enjoyed reading the obituaries in the paper (who the hell reads the paper in this day and age?) He also enjoyed taking you to lunch. Of all the supernatural creatures you routinely interact with, he’s your second favorite.

You stopped chewing, then looked him in the eye. “Katherine was alive?”

To his credit, Stu didn’t fidget, nor did he try to deflect. His eyes widened, yes, and you could almost see the wheels in his head turning, trying to extricate himself from the fuck-up. You weren’t going to let him.

“Stu. Tell me.”

“I get the feeling the name in that request should be different.”

“Stuart.”

He sighs. “Yes. She was living in a home for the elderly. She was ninety something. A trooper, if you ask me.”

Fuck. “Fuck!”

“You thought she was dead?”

“Duh. I thought she was dust. He never…" Well, that was on you.

“I thought you knew about her.”

“I never had the courage to ask. Or to let him tell me about her. I thought, why bother? She’s dead. She will always be the one who got away. Cause they all get away when you’re immortal. Heh.”

Stu pats your hand. He and Viago get along so well, probably because their personalities are similar. They’re both sweet and soft and caring.

“You should talk to him.”

They both have a tendency to state the obvious, too.

You talked to Viago. The news of Katherine’s death affected him less than you had anticipated.

“I loved her so much. She’s the reason I’m here, in New Zealand. I do not wish the pain I felt when I learned of her marriage onto my worst enemy. It was awful. That long, dreadful journey, I thought it had been for nothing. It wasn’t. I got a lot of good things out of it. This flat. Vlad and Deacon and Petyr. A fondness for the Pacific Ocean at night. And you. You’re my favorite of all of these.”

You smiled. “You forgot Nick and Stu.”

He smiled too. “And Nick and Stu.” 

Stu also enjoys driving to the woods, more so now that he’s dating a lovely girl called Ella. She, too, has rosy cheeks and a sunny disposition that gives Viago a run for his money.

“Why are we going in separate cars?”

You shrug. “Stu likes driving, and so do I.”

Viago loathes it. He favors the inertia of being driven; you once called him ‘milord’ when he hopped in your car. He hated that, too.

“I never fucked a servant. I was a very honorable young man.”

“There is no honor in being an aristocrat. Noblemen and landlords have never been nothing but parasites.”

That was a fun first fight. He accused you of insulting his family, his _lineage_. You laughed in his face and said his very dead family would be quick to disown a bat-fucker.

He hissed at you. “That was Deacon! I have never done such a thing!”

“At least Deacon has never exploited anyone!”

Viago sneered. “Oh, I must have hallucinated Jackie, then!”

“Go fuck yourself, you waistcoat-wearing buffoon!”

“I just might since I certainly don’t wanna fuck a mouthy serf!”

“Good, you won’t! Ever again! Have fun fucking bats!”

“Bats are warmer than you, anyway!”

He slammed the front door open, nearly pulling it off its hinges. You slammed it shut with equal force.

You were panting, seething and ridiculously turned on. An angry Viago was such a rare occurrence that you groaned, pressed against the wooden door, aroused and furious at him and at yourself.

There was a knock. You knew it was him. Physical barriers had lost their substance; you could _feel_ him if he was nearby. You opened the door, ready to resume the fight. You were always needlessly defiant. Always making things worse. Always escalating conflict. You liked to go down fighting, and you weren’t gonna let an undead _thing_ torpedo that nasty record.

He looked so rueful your chest immediately constricted.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, please forgive me.”

All that anger roaring in your ears, gone. You nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”

You are hotheaded, but not proud. And your feelings for Viago make you… soft. He held you, and kissed you, and your body responded almost automatically, and aggressively, so you ended up fucking on your kitchen floor —the floor-fucking was usually reserved for his bedroom—, the hot, red anger of moments prior now transformed into lust, blinding and just as scalding as you pin him down and ride him mercilessly, nails digging into his cold skin, making him hiss and growl.

You saw his jab coming a mile away. “You’re fucking a _Junker_. You’re a class traitor.” 

“Pfff, please, I’m in love with a man whose wealth consists of a set of silverware and, like, four antiques.”

“You’re in love with me?”

Isn’t that what he had said? _Shit_.

The silence grew uncomfortable. You had known for a while, had felt it for a while, but had never found the best way to articulate it. When to say it. How to say it. And only moments before, you had thought you’d missed your chance. Fortunately, Viago had no such qualms.

“I’m in love with you, too. You must know that. I love you dearly and I can finally say it to you.”

You got teary-eyed, like a fucking idiot. He held you tightly, like the sentimental idiot that he is.

  


There’s a waxing crescent moon, and the air is slightly chilly. Stu’s car is parked next to yours, a good five meters away.

“Wanna make out?”

Viago frowns. “Ri-right now?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.”

He hesitates for a couple of seconds. Then a couple more.

“Why are we here?”

You laugh. “Like, on Earth?”

“Babe.”

Ella turns to you just as you turn to them. Stu looks as unfazed as ever, but he does flash a quick, roguish smirk.

“I think you’re able to gather why we’re here. Do you want to leave?”

Viago looks ahead, to the woodlands. He’s wearing his dandy clothes; he alternates between his usual style and the contemporary one he’s honing, which is just as eccentric, but you’re fond of it nonetheless.

“No.”

Do you want to fuck?”

“Yeah.”

It’s an exhalation that you barely hear. His eyes are hooded and his fangs appear longer and sharper. You offer your index finger. The puncture always makes you squirm a little.

“Touch yourself” he orders.

Your fingertips ghost over your cunt, and you picture Viago sucking on your clit just like he’s sucking on the pad of your finger.

“That would take a great deal of contortion on both our parts.”

A faint chuckle escapes you. You asked him once if he could see or hear your thoughts when he fed on you.

“Not quite, but the distance between our minds is shorter, so to speak.”

It's strange bond the one you two share; Viago’s otherworldly nature gives him skills no former lover of yours possessed (luckily). He warned you that drinking your blood would allow him to locate you instantly.

“That’s… super creepy.”

“Yes, I know. That doesn’t mean I will violate basic boundaries.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll only be wherever you are if you want me there. Unless you’re in danger.”

“You can sense that, too?

“Yes.”

He has kept his word. It gradually became less unnerving, and Viago tries to rely on your words and your cues rather than his instincts. He can, to an extent, tune out your whereabouts. He calls and texts, like a normal person. But when he feeds on your blood, your connection is boosted, and primal desires become much more discernible, almost tangible. And so does raw emotion.

You slip your hand under your panties and find yourself wet. You touch your clit with a bit more speed, a bit more resolve.

“I fucking love watching you touch yourself so fucking much. Do you think they’ll like it too?”

You grunt. Viago only curses like that while fucking, “a habit I picked up from you” he had joked. You keep your eyes on him, but you can feel two extra pairs of eyes on you.

You take off your underwear. The air grows thick with want; Viago is touching himself over the coarse fabric of his pants. _Just a little taste_. He takes out his cock and sweeps his thumb over the head. He’s always so delicate, until he isn’t. Your head dips and your tongue licks a wet line up his shaft and then your mouth closes around the head. You expect to find him with his head turned toward them when you look up, but his gaze is fixed on you.

 _Kiss me_. You straddle him and claw at his cravat, mouth on his. He kisses you back, tongue warm and eager and deliciously wet. You can taste the copper of your own blood, and it makes you grind your cunt on his cock, hard and slippery from your spit.

“You want it?” He moans. “Wanna ride my cock?”

“Always.”

He tears your shirt down the front and takes your breasts in his hands. “I did wonder why you’re not wearing a bra.”

You laugh, and he takes your face in his hands and just… looks at you. You’re breathing quickly, but the intensity of his gaze makes you hold your breath.

“I’m yours. Only yours.”

There’s so much devotion in those four words that your heart skips a beat.

“Only mine” you moan as you lower your hips until he’s deep inside of you. The motion of your hips is gentle at first. You tangle your fingers in his hair, and then wrap them around the column of his neck, thumbs caressing his jaw. His own finger grazes your clit, a slow, sweet gesture, as if you had all night. His other hand is cupping your breast, thumb flickering over your nipple until it hardens.

“Let them witness you” he whispers.

You start moving faster, the feel of his cock in your cunt fucking celestial. You rock back and forth, back and forth, letting it stretch you, claiming him and letting him claim you. His thumb works your clit faster, too, following the rhythm of your hips.

“You have any idea how much I love watching you ride me like this? How much I love filling up your perfect little cunt with my cock, with my cum?”

You nod and kiss him hard. _They can’t touch you. Only I can touch you_. Did he say that? Or did you? Whose mind uttered it? Whose mind echoed it?

 _Please_. One more stroke of his finger. One more roll of your hips. One more swirl of your tongues.

“Show them how much you love fucking me” he murmurs as you arch your back and moan as you come. Your entire body shakes in a violent, graceless tremor. You feel Viago grinding your hips on his; he then grabs you by the hair and growls in your mouth as he comes.

The car windows are slightly foggy, but you can still see Stu and Ella. Well, you can see the back of Stu’s head as he kisses her.

Your nipples are still hard, exposed to the night air. Viago takes off his coat and offers it to you.

“I really like this one. You look so good in it.”

He smiles, bashful. “I never would have expected Stu to agree to this.”

“Really? I thought we had all agreed that Stu is the best person that has ever existed.”

Viago giggles. You love him so fucking much it makes your chest hurt, but in the warmest possible way.

He rests his head on the seat. “I love you, too.”

It’s your turn to smile sheepishly. Or is it almost unbearably lovingly?

“Let’s go home.”

You want to honk goodbye, but decide against it. You catch a weak moan before you turn the key in the ignition.

“Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my super thorough research, _Junker_ is the german term for a landed aristocrat.


	4. Pegging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admissions, decisions, and penetrations.

  


“How old were you when you were turned?”

“Thirty-five.”

“An old fart by the standards of that time, no?” You joke.

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Not if you were noble.”

“Ah, yes, the perks of living off the labor of others.”

“Indeed.” He has learned not to take such blatant bait.

“That must be why you don’t have a single white hair.”

“You love my dark hair.”

It’s your turn to laugh. “Indeed.” You paused. “Forever thirty-five… how has that worked out?”

He takes your hand and kisses your fingers. “Wonderfully, actually. I know how much you dislike old men.”

You giggle. “I will get old, too. So plan ahead, mate. Do you have a type? What did Katherine look like? Maybe by then you’ll be able to enter physical preferences on Tinder. Get yourself someone who looks just like me.” You raise the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically. “Feed my ego or I’ll haunt your pretty ass.”

He replies by embracing you and sinking his head in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “They won’t smell like you. They won’t have your voice. Their laugh will be different. And the way they say my name, too. I don’t want someone who looks like you. I want you.”

You sigh and hold him. You want him, too. Soft and tender and open. And strong and passionate and overwhelming.

You had always thought old age a burden. A cellular glitch; a biological bug. Viago is a triumph; maybe not of life, but definitely of might. You don’t know what animates them, and neither do they. What do you call that limbo in which creatures such as Viago exist? He can move, he can touch, he can taste.

He can ache. He can love. His love is just as warm and vibrant and stout as any living human’s. As yours. But the thought of living forever is just so exhausting. The certainty of death makes life —makes your life— compelling. Isn’t he tired?

He shrugs. “I’ll die one day. I don’t want to be like Petyr. Maybe sooner than later; if humans die off, we die off. And you guys are sprinting toward extinction.”

“I won’t be warm anymore.”

“You will be you. That’s warm enough for me.”

Luckily, you have plenty of time to make that decision.

“Wanna make out?” He asks as he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Always.” He presses you against the wall of your bedroom, mouth first curious, then demanding.

“I wanna try pegging” you breathe.

Viago withdraws slightly. “Really?”

“You know what that is?”

“Vladislav is into it.”

You let out an incredulous scoff. “How on Earth do you know that?”

“I like Pauline. We talk sometimes. She’s always been nice to me.”

Of course she is. Not being nice to Viago must be a criminal offense. You wonder what Pauline uses; it can’t be a dildo, too conventional for those two. You shake your head. “Is that something you would be into?”

He sits on the bed, and you sit next to him.

“I… I once used a dildo while masturbating.”

“I thought you didn’t masturbate often.”

“I didn’t. But seldom doesn’t mean never. I wanted to try it. I met a man once who made quite an impression on me. It later dawned on me that I was attracted to him. It was too late; he was only in town briefly. So I bought the plug and gave it a try.”

“And?”

“I liked it. It was a different kind of stimulation.”

“You never met another man that made you feel the same way?”

“No. Going out is more about finding prey, at least for me. Unlike Vlad or Deacon, I never mixed feeding with sexual pleasure.”

“And Alex? He would have been more than willing. He really liked you.”

Viago smiles. “I know. But that encounter was about you.”

You sit astride his legs. They’re solid, muscular; for someone who lived too comfortable a life, he’s surprisingly lean. “That would have made me come really hard, to be honest. Watching you get fucked by him.”

“Yeah?” He’s closed his eyes, head lulling to the side. You suck on that tender spot below his hear.

“Yeah. But we can remedy that.”

Your teeth sink into his flesh, soft and cold. He curses and grabs your hips almost forcefully, grinding them against his. “Fuck, let me have you now, please.”

Only Viago can be both demanding and pleading at once. You stand and take off your top, then shimmy out of your skirt.

“Get on your knees for me.”

You do as he says, and the rumor of him taking off his clothes is all you can focus on. Long fingers hook themselves in the waistband of your underwear, and you cry out when you feel his tongue on your cunt. He tears your panties off and bites your ass cheek before pressing a wet kiss on your clit. His tongue is smooth and precise, but he withdraws before properly working you with it.

He chuckles at your huff of impatience. “Tell me you want me.”

You don’t hesitate. You never hesitate with him.

“I want you.”

“Tell me you’re mine.”

You smirk. You can’t see him, but you know he’s sitting on his heels, stroking himself slowly. His requests for reassurance, you have learned, don’t stem from a claim of possession. Viago is not one for inklings of mistrust or fits of jealousy. The things he says when he’s turned on obey more to a need for affirmation.

The Katherine affair had bruised him, hurt him deeply. Viago wondered for a long time if love was in vain. He had stowed his love away until it withered in his already atrophied heart, unbothered by the countless people he met since. Until he met you.

He met you by chance. Pure happenstance. A new neighbor who accidentally discovered what he was and who was promised safety in exchange for silence. Until you surrendered to an impulse born out of lust. You wanted him. And he allowed it. He allowed himself to be wanted, so he, too, yielded, not really knowing what to expect.

Mind-blowing sex, for starters. How could he have deprived himself of such pleasures for so long? The feel, the taste of you, it was all so intense, so consuming. Thinking about you was enough to get his blood rushing, metaphorically speaking. He could not stand being apart. He had to be near you, on you, inside you at all times. Hearing his name uttered with such need, such passion, was an incredible high. The warmth, the heat of your body became a haven.

One night, Stu was teaching him about social media, and he was showing him his Instagram account. He scrolled down until he saw one of your posts. You were at a restaurant, posing with natural ease. It was daytime and the sunlight made your hair look so vibrant.

“I wished I had taken that picture”, he’d said. He wished he could take you to a place that served your favorite food and take a picture of you, smiling, happy. He realized that, despite spending almost every night with you, he didn’t know you. He realized he wanted to know you. He wanted to know what made you _you_.

When he created his own Instagram account, his first post was a picture of you, sitting at a little outdoor bistro, a beautiful smile curving your mouth. The caption was a bunch of black heart emojis that turned into red ones.

“I’m yours,” you sigh.

Viago isn’t interested in ownership. You are not a possession. You are not a familiar. He is interested in the conviction of your affection. You both know it’s entirely possible for either of you to fall out of love. To leave, and to leave the other aching, broken. But for now, you can find solace in the certainty of requited love.

“All yours” you whisper as he runs his fingers down your spine and enters you. He lowers himself until his chest rests on your back. His thrusts are firm and steady, and he’s murmuring fevered words into your neck. Pleasure curls in the pit of your stomach and you’re almost certain you can come like this.

You let your head hang and your body sway to the cadence set by Viago’s hips. When his hand moves from your waist to your chest and he kisses you right behind your ear, you groan and tense below him, muscles taut then loose.

One, two, three more thrusts and Viago trembles against you, arms nearly crushing your upper body. “All mine.”

You rest your head on your arms and close your eyes, trying to catch your breath. Viago busies himself with licking the cum dripping out of you. You feel him settle next to you, drawing shapeless figures on your back.

When you wake up, you’re on your side and Viago is curled around you, fast asleep, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt. You got tired of waking up in the middle of the night —or the middle of the day— shivering, so you got him clothes he could wear to bed.

You dream quite often, but your dreams are generally short, disjointed and nonsensical. Viago’s proximity makes you fall into this black, dreamless slumber. And it’s often abrupt, like being pulled into a void by a pitch-black claw. At first it was unsettling, almost frightening, but Viago hates crawling into a cold, narrow coffin after spending the night with you, so your brain slowly adapted to this man-shaped mental shadow.

Your phone says it’s almost 8 am. You smile. Viago’s presence is also, apparently, an alarm. As soon as you stir, his hold around your waist tightens.

“I have to work.”

“You have to let me work this pretty pussy.”

You cackle. His half-asleep dirty talk is _weak_.

“So… tonight?”

He creaks one eye open. “You already bought it, didn’t you?”

“I was drunk and overly optimistic.”

“I knew it the moment you asked.”

“I still need need a resounding yes.”

“Yeah?”

“You think I’m gonna fuck you in the ass without checking if you wanna get fucked in the ass? Who do you think I am? A man?”

He snorts. He takes your hand and presses your palm against his butt cheek. He has a very nice ass, you’ll give him that. “All yours.”

  


It’s nice to have the blinds open.

Viago doesn’t live with you, but he does spend a lot of his time in your flat. Your brief musings on his safety ended when he stated he just needed thick curtains. You hate curtains, so you just purchased black roller shades and called it a day.

“What do you do all day?”

“Sleep.” The idea of a dead person needing sleep is absolutely wild. His very nature is well beyond your grasp, but details like that never fail to amaze you.

“Do you dream?”

“Only when I sleep with you.”

You were _very_ intrigued.

“They’re like flashes of light. As if I were in a dark room, with the door ajar, and there was someone outside flicking the hallway lights on and off. It’s quite strange.”

What do you see?”

“People. But only people who are or were alive. You. Stu and his pack. Katherine in her old age. My father.”

You nodded. You have never placed much meaning on dreams, but the fact that Viago still has them is fascinating. In the early stages of your relationship, you became obsessed with the idea of figuring out what Viago is. It often led to a lot of cheeky role-play —too many lab coats were ripped to shreds, and too much fingering with latex and rubber gloves took place— but the intention persisted.

Are they simply supernatural creatures, animated by an unknown and inexplicable force and/or entity? Or could there be a scientific explanation?

You discovered that Viago does have blood pressure, but too low to allow organs to function properly. Too low to be alive, basically. But it was such a revelation that you barely slept for days. However, a sphygmomanometer was as far as you could go without involving actual medical professionals. It’s not like you could buy an MRI scanner and operate it.

When your nightstand had too many books about the principles of biology, Viago put a stop to it.

“I don’t think I can be intimate with someone who treats me like a bug under a microscope.”

He had insisted you go to his place for several nights in a row because he loathed the sight of those books. He, too was surprised at the blood pressure breakthrough. But he had no real interest in the how, or the why. He knows who he is. And when you repeatedly asked about _what_ , not _who_ he was, as if he were an inanimate object one keeps around for decor, or entertainment, he saw that your curiosity was taking a much less fun turn. It was dehumanizing. And you both knew the dangers of that. You gave the books away to the local library and promised not to inquire again.

The windows are open, too.

Viago lays a soft kiss on your chest, right on your sternum.

“Send not to know for whom the heart beats…” you tease.

His fangs press slightly against the fabric of your t-shirt, and he smiles. “It beats at a much lower rate for thee.”

You laugh just as he kisses your cheek. “A friend of yours, Mr. Donne?”

“Oh, yes. We had tea together every Thursday. What a lad.”

You kiss him, savoring the taste of mouthwash with a hint of metal. You take his hand right before he sneaks it into your underwear. “First things first.”

He chuckles and flops down on the bed.

“Are you nervous?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Silly question. He’s done it before, just solo. You might even ask him to do it again, because you would love to witness that.

“How do you want me?”

You bite your lip. You want to see him. You want him to see you fuck him.

“Just like that.”

He’s on his back, stroking himself beneath his boxers almost absentmindedly. You take them off and bite the inside of his thighs. You lick a wet stripe up his shaft and swirl your tongue around the tip. A little more nibbling on the flesh of his stomach gets him all worked up. You dip your head and suck on his balls, then run your index around the rim of his opening. Viago lets out a lovely whimper.

You reach out for the lube and pour a generous amount on your fingers and go back to working him open. There are times when you could swear you can feel Viago’s skin warming up. You kiss his thigh and run your fingertips along the tattoo on his leg.

“Vladislav’s 852 birthday. I like it, to be honest. It’s pretty… rad.”

You like it, too. You love it. It _is_ pretty rad. Your index and middle fingers are in, and you devote your full attention to plying him open. You add more lube and then your ring finger.

“Fuck, babe.” He even arches his back a little, and fuck, you wanna see that again.

Your mouth closes around his cock, and you bob your head up and down a few times, trying to gather more spit on each upstroke. You move your fingers to the pace of your mouth, and all you can hear, all you can process, is Viago’s moaning and grunting.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

The harness is simple and easy to put on. You leave your panties on, but remove your shirt. The dildo is slender and you lather it with lube before taking his legs and resting them on your shoulders. He looks so good like this.

You push your hips forward and slide all the way inside. Viago’s filthy moan makes you moan in return.

“Good?” You ask, almost panting. You’re already really wet, but not that concerned with getting yourself off.

“Really fucking good.”

You start thrusting, slowly and carefully, the hold on his knees stronger, the beat of your heart faster. It’s quite similar yet entirely different from riding his cock. You can watch him, gauge his reactions, his increasing abandon. But stretching _him_ open, feeling him give in, knowing he’ll feel this after he comes, after tonight, it’s satisfying in a whole new way.

You’re sweating, muscles straining, abdomen tight. “Touch yourself for me.”

He obliges, he always does.

“Spit on it” he breathes, wrapping his fingers around his cock. You lower your head and let a line of spit fall on his cock. The roll of your hips is a tad less steady now, but Viago pushes himself down every time you thrust into him, helping you keep your momentum, helping you keep the sultry rhythm you’ve set.

Your brain has tuned out everything that isn’t Viago: you can’t see anything beyond his writhing body; you can’t hear anything other than his breathless moaning; you can’t feel anything beside the nearly gravitational pull of his hips onto the slick dildo. The tip of his cock is a deep red, and you can almost see that crimson flush creep up his chest.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so—“

When he comes while you’re on top, his body contracts, tensing inward. But now his back is arching, body stretching outward, elastic and pliant and fucking transfixing. He comes all over his stomach, moaning and cussing.

You remember to move when he wiggles his hips a little. You slide the dildo out of him with ease, and unstrap the harness and toss it on the floor. You lie down next to him and take off your panties. Your clit is positively aching, and you start touching yourself hastily, almost desperately.

Fuck, seeing Viago like that, fucking him like that has nearly made you burst into flames.

“Babe. Let me…”

Oh. You’re too caught up in the frenzy of your own desire; you rub the heel of your palm against your clit as you pump two fingers inside and you turn to him and see his big, hazel eyes on you and come hard, completely disengaged from the world around you for a few blissful seconds.

Wow. You have masturbated in front of him countless times, but never like this. Never without a least a modicum of control. You bury your face in his neck.

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t know what happened there.” You are fucking mortified.

Viago chuckles. “Look at me.”

You raise your head, albeit reluctantly. He tucks your hair behind your ear.

“Please, don’t apologize. Whatever that was, it was wonderful.” He looks away, suddenly timid. When his gaze returns to you, it’s somehow warmer than before. “The things you make me feel… I’m glad I make you feel them, too.”

He has always been better than you at finding the right words, at expressing complex emotions with very simple phrasing. You nod. Yes. The things he makes you feel. A myriad, all soft and warm, like him. You can name them, yes, but language might not encompass them all, it might not define them properly. You prefer to host them, to harbor them: in the pores of your skin, in the threads of your hair, in the interstices of your ribs. In the crevice between your thighs, and on the pads of your fingers. In the wet heat of your mouth, too, as well as the ridges of your heart.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, thumb brushing your eyebrow. When his mouth finds yours, you let out a sigh, lighthearted. You could do this for years. For decades, even. Is for centuries too far-fetched? No, not really. Not when the reward for an endless existence is the feel of Viago’s body, the cadence of his voice, the love in his eyes.

He lowers his head and bites your neck, the flesh yielding easily. Like his lovemaking, his feeding is extraordinarily precise.

He was afraid of killing you, at first; he doesn’t have the best record when it comes to a clean bite. And he had never aimed for a non-fatal bite before, always assuming his victim would end up dead anyway. He did something he had never felt the need to do before: ask for advice. Vladislav and Nick kindly offered their insight; Nick even did a demonstration —of all four vampires, he was the second nicest one. He didn’t bite you, he just showed Viago how he positions himself and his fangs, guided by the ever-enticing feel of your blood pressure.

“It’s one of the downsides of being a vampire, in my opinion" Viago had said. "I do it because I must, but I have always found it rather… distasteful.”

You had an audience the first time he bit you. Stu and Anton were standing by, tourniquets in hand. You were also in public, in a dark alley, like a cliché horror movie. But that dark street was close to the hospital, in case Viago fucked up.

You were amused by the whole ordeal. You didn’t have a death wish, so you appreciated the, uh, preparations. It wasn’t like Viago hit the main artery every single time he fed, but it happened often enough to raise eyebrows. The other vampires found it hysterical, but also kind of endearing, as if it were a quirk. But this time around he was understandably distressed, and so were the others; they feared that he would never recover from accidentally killing the woman he loved.

You rolled your eyes at their concerns for _his_ well-being, disregarding that it was your life on the line.

“I swear to God that I will never stop haunting you and those dickheads if you fridge me, Viago.”

He nodded, brow furrowed, teeth worrying his bottom lip. You cupped his cheek and kissed him softly.

Whether it was the careful planning or Viago’s last-minute tuning of his instinct —you may have pictured it as a knob that went from kill to maim— he managed to puncture the external jugular vein. The blood flow is significantly slower, so he had to suck. It was painful, and you were both acutely aware of the events and strangely detached from the specifics. You knew Anton and Stu were nearby, but couldn’t see them. You knew you were outdoors, but couldn’t feel the night air. Your senses were centered on a tall, dark man enclosing you with his arms and sucking your blood out of you.

It was ritualistic. Your mind gathered that much when Viago raised his head, pressed one bloodied fang into his finger then slipped it into your mouth. It tasted like normal, flowing blood, but perhaps a tad sharper. The heel of his hand was on your neck, applying pressure to the wound. He then kissed you, first slowly, then greedily, and the billow of fog that had started to take hold of you lifted.

“Are you alright?” The werewolves were nowhere to be seen. “I asked them to leave as soon as they confirmed I hadn’t killed you.”

You smiled. The bleeding had stopped, and, for some godless reason, you were aroused, and so was he; you could feel his arousal as intensely as your own. He fucked you in that alley, your back against a dirty wall, hands clawing at his shoulders, and it was raw and without any sense of rhythm, but you came regardless, digging the heel of your boot into his thigh and whimpering in his blood-stained mouth.

He took your hand and pressed it to his chest. “You’re part of me, now. And I of you.”

You had barely gotten your wits together, but his words were etched onto your skin. Viago had a knack for simplicity, yes, but also a flare for the poetic. You brushed your lips against his, and nodded. He pulled band-aids out of his pocket and put them on the puncture marks.

You held him more tightly than usual as you drifted off to sleep that night.

He seldom feeds on you. The fear of killing you has disappeared, but eating, like for humans, is purely a physiological need.

“You’re not a blood bag.”

“Neither are the people you kill.”

“What’s the difference? You’re not a vegetarian, you eat the flesh of animals, too.”

“I don’t rip off their meat while they’re still alive.”

“That’s a weak argument, and you know it.”

Perhaps it was slightly hypocritical to object his instincts and their results, yes. So you entertained a possibility. “There are medical professionals that can be bribed. Is that something you would like to try?”

It was. They are no strangers to storing blood, they just… harvest it themselves. Viago is quite fond of this new method. Vlad, Deacon and Nick, too, but they still like to hunt their prey. Viago still accompanies them, and indulges his impulses every now and then. Old habits die hard, you suppose.

He presses his hand to the marks. “I wanna turn you.”

You open your eyes, a little disoriented. What?

“What?”

“I want to turn you. I want—“ He stops, hand still pressed to your neck. He rests his forehead between your breasts, seemingly trying to find the right words. This is an area he has never fumbled with, and his hesitance clears the haze of your mind.

“Right now?”

He somehow manages to half-nod, half-shake his head. “Yes. Or maybe not right now, but soon.”

You gently push him away and sit up. You know when an argument is about to break out, and you do not want to be feeble _and_ naked. You search for your shirt and your underwear and put them on.

“Viago, what the fuck? I thought we had agreed that I would tell you when— if I was ready.”

“If?”

That small, voiceless syllable sounds filled with so much hurt and disbelief that you wince. You look away. Honesty isn’t always effortless, especially when someone’s feelings are on the line. But you have tried to be honest with Viago in every regard. Now is not the time to stop.

“I don’t know if I want to become a vampire. I never promised you that.”

He bites his bottom lip, brow furrowed. “I know. I just want to keep you safe.” His hands are shaking a little, and he refuses to look at you in the eye. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you.”

Ah. Whenever you get a cold, or trip, or cut yourself, or eat something that makes you puke your guts out for days, Viago eyes you with this… unfathomable despair.

A man followed you for several blocks one time, but it was still daytime. Viago had warned you he could sense if you were in danger, and he did sense it. But he could not help you. He spent those agonizing minutes clawing at his front door, angry and desperate. He was at your doorstep the minute it was dark. He embraced you, and you remembered what he had said.

“I threatened to pepper spray him and then I went into a shop” you shrugged. It was hardly the first time you were harassed by a stranger, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Viago was seething. “How can you be so nonchalant about it?”

“What do you expect me to do? Never leave the house?”

“If you had been a vampire you could have snapped his spine in half.”

That made you chuckle. “That would be quite a trick. Can you do that?”

He was less furious. “I may have done it a few centuries ago.”

Huh. That sounded so violent, so unlike him. His rage was somewhat vindicating, but ultimately futile. There was nothing he could do about it if it happened again in the daytime. But you did wish you would encounter that same man in the nighttime. Hearing his spine break in half would certainly provide comfort.

You admit you like that about vampires, about being one. The lawlessness. The possibility of retribution. Of not being easily overpowered. Of not being targeted and hunted like game in the woods.

That incident showed that Viago often saw you in constant peril. Like a perpetual damsel in distress, prone to accident, disease and death. And violence.

It wasn’t an easy posture to refute since you are, well, mortal. You would have deemed it rather condescending were it anybody else. But Viago’s concern was so genuine, his anguish so painfully sincere that it made your heart ache.

What would he do should you drop dead at any given moment? You’re fairly certain he would recover. He fell in love with you after decades of being in love —one could even say obsessed— with Katherine. And when forever is no longer a metaphor, love never ceases to be a possibility.

You take his hand. “I know. But safety is never guaranteed, you know that. All of you know that after what happened to Petyr.”

He punctures his finger and offers it to you. His blood somehow makes you recover faster, but since you promised to abandon your misguided research, it’s just another mystery to add to the list. And drinking too much might trigger the transformation, so there’s yet another faux pas to avoid. You twine your fingers with his.

“Give me some time, please. Or am I getting too old for you?”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I would wait 50 years if it meant I could spend eternity with you.”

“Would you have turned Katherine if you hadn’t met me?”

“I thought about it. Yes, I probably would have.”

His feelings for Katherine have never sparked jealousy. It had been such a tragicomical affair, after all. You even admired the endurance of his love. Immortality will do that to you.

“We are both here now, safe. Let’s focus on that.”

His mouth is warm and slightly gooey, but you don’t mind it. You end up under him, his kiss making you breathless. He moves to take off your shirt, but it gets tangled in your arms and over your face and he just laughs as you struggle to get it over your head.

“Serves you right for putting it on.”

“Bite me.”

“Where?”

You laugh, the collar of your shirt right below your hairline. He removes the shirt and smooths his fingers over your eyebrows .

“Do you love me?”

How can you not love him? How can he not feel the pounding of your heart, for him and for him alone?

“I love you. You are mine and I am yours.”

He kisses your jaw, your clavicle, one breast, then the other. He bites your waist and your hip. When he sweeps his tongue up your cunt, you let out a gasp. His tongue is always so thorough, so methodical. Its tip teases your clit while his mouth closes around it. It’s a motion he repeats in patterns, a rhythmic friction.

He looks up just as you look down, and he gives you a mischievous smile. He sucks on the hood of your clit and flattens his tongue against it and dips it in your cunt and it’s oh so hot, so maddening.

“Fuck, Viago, I’m gonna come all over that pretty—“ you shut your eyes and let that flickering flame surge and swallow you whole. Your body jerks and an unintelligible cry leaves you. Viago is grazing his teeth over your belly and then moving up your body, murmuring things you cannot make out.

“What?” You’re barely coherent. You do feel the tremor of his body, like little aftershocks, quite similar to…

He curls your leg around his waist and thrusts into you. He mutters your name as he slides out, only to push back in much harder.

“Fuck.” You can’t be sure if he whispered that or if you did. But you raise your knees to your chest and urge him deeper. Your pleasure comes in waves, and in some dark, heat-filled crevice located in the infinitesimal distance between your bodies, you can feel _his_ pleasure, warm, wet, intense.

The friction is electrifying, almost unbearable. Is that what you feel like? You can’t think, your mind is collapsing, it’s too much, too fucking much. Viago groans in your ear as he comes, and then you come, as if it were a reflex.

No, not a reflex. A reflection.

His orgasm engulfs him and consumes him and you cannot tell if you’re feeling his or your own. But you ride the wave regardless. He rolls off you and you try to catch your breath.

“What was that?” You’re still panting.

He nuzzles up to you. “I don’t know. But I liked it a lot.”

You nod, a little distracted. That had never happened before. Does your bond get stronger every time you drink each other’s blood? It’s kind of freaky, but very much worth exploring.

“Wanna watch something? I don’t feel sleepy at all. So weird.”

“I’m never sleepy in the nighttime” he replies as he wiggles his eyebrows. It’s like 2 am, so it’s still technically nighttime.

“Let me take a shower first.”

“Want some company?”

“No! I don’t want my pussy to disintegrate.”

He snorts. He takes a shower, too, and you let him choose the movie. His taste is all over the place, but he does favor rom-coms. Not surprising.

It’s nearly 10 am when you wake up. Viago had closed the blinds; if it were up to your vigilance, he would have burned to ashes ages ago.

You snuggle up to him, inhaling the scent of his sweater. He throws a leg over yours and sighs in what sounds like pure contentment.

You can’t help but do the same.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had written a much more different ending; not dark, just... angsty. But I changed my mind cause I am, at heart, a sappy idiot. Lemme know if you'd like me to change it back lol


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